Read Online This Is How I'd Love You by Hazel Woods - Free Book Online Page A

so far above. As though she had become a spectator of this play, an observer who simultaneously longed for the girl below to rebuke him and hoped she didn’t. She doubted everything but the truth of the performance; like the best theater, she forgot that it was all orchestrated, arranged. She believed his performance, his certainty that she could relieve his suffering with just one look, could assuage his temper if only he had her lips upon his, could look forward without despair if he knew she were his. And his voice, as he seemed to unfold her, admiring each piece of her as he did, was utterly irresistible.
    As she walked home alone, the sun just setting over the Hudson, she reassured herself that nothing had been lost. He would not, he assured her, ruin her. He knew how to protect her, how to keep her pure. When he bid her good-bye, the headmistress watching over them as they exited the school building, he merely shook her gloved hand as though there was absolutely nothing between them. Was this, she wondered, the secret of adult life? Was coupling not a sacred mystery at all, but rather tucked into nearly every corner, as ordinary as a cigarette case or bus fare?
    When she entered the apartment, her father was stretched out on the couch, his fingers drumming gently upon his chest.
    “Good rehearsal?” he asked quietly.
    She dropped her satchel and removed her hat and gloves. “Hectic,” she replied, blushing, afraid the desire had not yet faded from her eyes. “But Mr. Teagan is utterly brilliant. It will all come off.”
    Her father sat up. “Do you have someone to talk to, Hensley?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “About your life. About what is happening in your life? I’m not much good at girl talk. Your mother would want you to have that.”
    Hensley felt perspiration forming around her hairline. What could he possibly know? She removed her coat. “Nothing’s happening. Why would you say such a thing?”
    “I am not accusing you of anything, my dear. But I know—I’ve been told—that girls can often let their hearts precede their heads.”
    “Really? Is that what you’ve heard? Well, I’ve been told over and over that men often let their guns precede their heads. I don’t believe one gender has the monopoly on irrationality.”
    “Touché, Hennie.” He massaged his temples, as though easing some deep, ancient pain. “I only know how often I yearn for your mother’s wisdom. I’m sure you do, too.”
    Hensley nodded. Her father stood up and, before settling himself behind his desk, he placed a strong hand on her arm, giving her a quick squeeze.
    She swallowed hard in order to clear the regret and the guilt that had gathered in the back of her throat.
    “I will make a carrot soup. There is always wisdom in that,” she said brightly, wondering when she’d become such a good actress.
     • • • 
    A t the final dress rehearsal before opening night, Hensley had a thousand final alterations to make and Mr. Teagan stayed with her, pacing behind her as she worked.
    “Nervous?” she asked, threading her needle.
    He grabbed her shoulders, held her face close to his. “I’ve done it. I’ve enlisted. I will ship out this summer.”
    “What? I thought . . .”
    “I was compelled. I thought about you, how perfect you are, and I want to protect that. I want to give my life to the fight, Hennie.”
    “Lowe, my God. Are you sure?”
    “It’s done. Oh, Hensley, my love. It didn’t feel real until I cast my eyes upon you this afternoon. Now, I understand what I will lose. What grief I’ve brought upon myself!”
    His eyes seemed about to flood with tears. Hensley wrapped her arms around him. “You will not lose anything. You will be fine.”
    He pressed his lips against hers, the warmth of his tongue cajoling hers. He was excited, unbuttoning her blouse with a fierceness that startled her.
    “Lowell,” she said, pulling away. “Mr. Teagan, I have loads of work to do. Tomorrow is the